Tag Archives: love

18 Miles of Books

Posted on March 4, 2011 | 1 comment

He approached her.

“Look, we have the same book.”

She looked at the book in his hand and nodded. “Is this the part where we realize we have all these things in common and then fall in love, like we’re in some romantic comedy?”

His smile flickered but he regained his composure.

“I know you saw me with it and picked it up.”

She frowned. “I did not.”

“Mhmm. Next you’re going to tell me Eggers is your favorite author and you’ve read all his books and love him. And it will be a lie.”

“I HAVE read all of his books. This is a gift for a friend.”

“Mine too.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and then cracked a smile. “Of all the bookstores in all the world, you had to walk into mine. And bug me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, this is your bookstore? You must be wealthy. I’ve heard there are over sixteen miles of books here.”

“Eighteen. But who’s counting?”

He laughed and she cracked a smile.

“You’re kind of a wise ass, aren’t you?”

She fidgeted with her book and scraped the ground with the tip of her left Puma. “Maybe a little.”

“I like that.”

She reached into her bag to look for something.

“Oh I didn’t ask for your number yet.”

“That’s fine,” she said as she pulled out a copy of an old Jacques Cousteau book. “I wasn’t offering. I am planning on going to the park to read my book.”

His eyebrows raised again and his face gained a look of surprise. “You won’t believe this but –“ he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a different but just as worn Cousteau book.

Now she looked surprised but tried to hide it by picking up a random vintage book from a nearby shelf.

“Ever read this one?”

“Nope. Is it good?”

“Quite.”

“Maybe you could read it to me in bed tonight.”

An older woman who was clearly eavesdropping from across the aisle dropped her book and shuffled away, mumbling to herself.

“Why sir, how forward of you!” she said with a giggle.

His smile started to grow as well. “Well…I was just…er…” he started cracking up and her face broke out into laughter as well. She fell to the floor, shaking with giggles as he collected himself and offered her a hand.

“Had enough of this little game?” she asked him as she accepted his hand and stood.

“Sure. You laughed first though,” he said as he pulled her to her feet.

“No way! It was totally you!”

She looked into his eyes and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Let’s go home.”

 

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The Photogophobic Photographer

Posted on March 1, 2011 | 4 comments


He was uncomfortable in front of the camera, which was probably a major factor behind becoming a photographer in the first place. His shyness always clamped his mouth shut whenever someone told him to “say cheese.” For that reason, he hadn’t been captured on film in years. Besides that time he was fiddling with a camera that had a stuck shutter and he accidentally took one of himself, which he burned immediately upon developing the rest of the roll in his small water closet-turned-darkroom.

And now he was dating a fellow photographer. For the first time.

He always found himself with artists or models. Confident women who not only wanted to pose for him, demanded it. And, of course, as per his demeanor, he always complied. Whether he wanted to or not.

His timidity led to a cabinet full of photographs of all kinds of women. Most he’d never seen again, but some he’d come to recognize on the big screen in theaters, in advertisements and posters, even in the press. He sometimes wondered if they remembered him taking the photographs, many of which were nudes. Although taking off her clothing was never his idea. The more confidence a woman had, the sooner she would ask him to take nudes. And his work, well, it spoke for itself. Numerous shows in some of the biggest galleries in London, full page photographs in famous magazines, he had become rather well known for his work.

But now, this girl, all she wanted was a photograph of him. He didn’t know how to avoid it much longer. She adored him from the start; he could see it in her eyes after five minutes of conversation in which he’d probably said a total of fifteen words.

The two of them were loading film before heading out into Paris, ready to photograph La Ville-Lumière, the city of lights, on their first visit to the beautiful and historical city. They were dressed to kill, her in a beautiful black dress and the beret she bought along the Seine that morning, him in a button-down shirt and his favorite brown tie with little green and orange designs. He sat on the uncomfortable hotel room couch with ugly floral print and pulled back the heavy curtain to let in more light.

Something was wrong with his Pentax and the shutter was sticking (again) so he fiddled with it as she loaded film into her Anscoflex II. She giggled and curiosity got the better of him as he looked up and heard the click.

She smiled. “I knew I’d get you eventually. Quite a candid I just captured.” She flashed him her winning smile.

He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t angry. And after a while, he had to admit he was anxious to see how it turned out.

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Birdwatching on Bicycles in Bilborough

Posted on February 28, 2011 | 5 comments

“Let the first trip of the Birds and Bicycles Club begin!” announced Randolph Harrison Thursby to his companions. They all clapped lightly yet with enthusiasm as one of them took a photograph to capture the moment. Rand bowed and waved a hand as the small group of seven mounted their rides and stood, waiting for him to climb aboard his 1955 Regency De Luxe Tourist, his pride and joy.

“Binoculars at the ready?” asked Ruby Merriweather, his best friend since they were children, equaling over twenty years of friendship. Many of her boyfriends over the years were a bit jealous of their relationship; so jealous, in fact that she had yet to marry.

The other members of the group nodded or grumbled accordingly, eager to move on.

Rand jumped to the pedals and gave a slight push forward, the strap of his binoculars across his chest, the binoculars bumping into his back lightly as he pedaled.

Ruby placed a packed lunch and her binoculars into the small basket on the front of her B.S.A. Keep Fit bicycle, a gift from Rand when it was brand new only two years ago, the same as his bicycle.

She pedaled hard to catch up to Rand as they left the others behind by a few meters.

“So what did you make in the packed lunch?” Rand asked, nodding towards her basket, taking a break from scanning the nearby trees along the path searching for birds.

“Fish and chips,” she replied with a laugh.

He looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “Now I know that’s not true.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because you know I don’t like fish. That’s how I know.”

“Oh Randolph, you know me too well.”

The others fell behind a bit as one of them, an elderly gentleman named William Williamson pointed towards a grove of trees and stopped his bicycle. In the distance the group let their bikes drop as they all peered through binoculars, except for William who used his Brownie 127 to capture an image of the fowl.

Rand and Ruby failed to notice as they were ahead of the group. When Ruby turned and realized they were alone, she broached a subject long on her mind but had to build up her courage to ask.

“Rand,” she shook a little as she asked. “Why is it, do you think, that neither of us ever married?”

“Well, you’re too choosy, let’s face it. I set you up with that fellow Edward, he was perfect! But you found flaws.”

She sighed. “And what about you?”

He continued scanning the sky and pedaling. “Dunno. Haven’t found the right bird, I guess.”

“It doesn’t seem that you try very hard.”

“Maybe not,” he said as he braked. “Look!” After gently placing his bike on its side he twisted his body so that the binoculars swung around from his back to his front and caught them in one smooth motion, holding them to his eyes. His finger moved the focus dial as he aimed at the top of a nearby tree. “I think…I think it’s a rare one!”

Ruby propped her bicycle on the kickstand and pulled out her viewers. Aiming in the same general direction as Rand she moved them around a bit and finally spotted the bird. She gasped.

“It’s a Black Redstart! So rare!”

“I knew it! Just remember, I spotted it first. Everyone!” he called to the others before realising they were all gone. “Where did they go?”

“They fell behind ages ago. Williamson spotted something and they stopped.”

“Drat! They’re going to miss this Redstart. They don’t hang around long. Have you ever seen one?”

“I don’t even know anyone who has, to be honest,” she replied.

They both watched the creature in silence. It hopped from one branch to a lower one and froze as it spotted them. They both felt as if it were looking directly at them as they savored the moment.

“Wow, Phoenicurus ochruros. What a magnificent creature.”

He smiled and looked at Ruby. “Absolutely beautiful.”

She looked at him and smiled and he failed to notice her cheeks become the tiniest bit red.

“What do you say we head up that path and try that lunch you’ve made us?”

They both turned to look at the bird, its little orange belly still facing them as it watched them a moment longer, cocked its head and took off, flying out of sight.

*  *  *

The bicycles in the story:

Special thanks to Tracy of this blog for mailing me the photograph all the way from London, England that inspired the story.

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Take a Kindness…Leave a Kindness

Posted on February 23, 2011 | 2 comments

He couldn’t help it – the little red mailbox had the flag up, signifying he had mail. It hadn’t been up when he left the table in his favorite little coffee shop to grab a book from his car, had it? He couldn’t remember. He looked around with curiosity, then took a sip of his mango tea from the heavy blue mug.

The red mailbox had Take a kindness…leave a kindness scribbled in black Sharpie on the door. He opened it and found a small notepad with a happy little robot on it. He flipped through, reading each handwritten thought, until he turned to the final page that said “You never know. Right now someone could be looking your way and thinking That could totally be my soul mate.”

He looked up and saw an adorably cute girl with short blond hair smiling at him. She waved.

Special thanks to my favorite coffee shop, Burlap and Bean, for the inspiration.

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Ronald (A Story of Connections)

Posted on February 22, 2011 | Leave a comment

Ronald searched the jumbled shelves of the used book store. The owner told him the copy was here and even described the binding so he knew what he was looking for: off white with shiny red lettering. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot.

Ever since he met Liz he’d been infatuated with her. They spent so many hours discussing films, books, and everything else they both loved, and she’d recommended Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close the other night over tea at her place. He couldn’t get over how optimistic she was, her fun, artistic apartment, and even her quiet son who’d spent the night playing with his Transformers.

“I found it!” the owner called from behind a bookcase somewhere in the back of the store. She hobbled out and handed him the paperback that he took with care as if it were a newborn. He couldn’t wait to read this.

He paid her in cash as he always did, and she asked him how classes were since she always confused him with one of her other customers, a college professor, and reminded her that he was a chef. She smiled and apologized, fixed her small, crooked glasses and gave him change.

He walked out and continued down the alley that led to the main street where he made a left at a clump of mainstream stores, including a bookstore big enough to be considered a warehouse. He always went to Barbara’s store first for books since he liked to support independently owned stores that were quickly disappearing.

He stopped to flip through the book as he noticed some of the pages had photographs, some drawings, and even a few pages with color. He almost bumped into someone and without looking up walked around them. “Excuse me,” he said. When the person didn’t respond he turned to look at them and realized it was Liz’s son and he had a small, green handled shovel.

He’d have to bring that up to her next time they hung out. But that wouldn’t be until he’d read this book at least twice and was ready to tell her how wonderful it was.

If you enjoyed this and want to know more about the other characters, click on the Stories of Connections category on the right.

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Bradley (A Story of Connections)

Posted on February 21, 2011 | Leave a comment

Bradley stopped to peer into the weird store with all of the rats. He always stopped by here to watch them run by the windows in the huge maze of clear plastic pipes. One jumped at him, starling him into dropping his little shovel.

He picked it up and looked at the small clumps of dirt clinging to his mom’s garden tool. The green handle looked so new and his mom would certainly notice that it had been used. She was a neat freak, a word he overheard someone call her when they learned of her many cleaning rules imposed on him. He’d laughed at the term and called her that sometimes when she wasn’t around.

The same conversation was what led him here. He’d heard them talking about movies, then books, tuning out the conversation as best he could since it was interrupting his Transformers war.  He tuned back into what they were saying once he heard the term “father” uttered, which always grabbed him since he didn’t know his dad.

“And his father spends time with him by burying items in the park and then leaving clues so he can find them.”

“Wow, sounds interesting.”

“Yes, and he goes on a quest to find his father’s final clue by searching the whole city.”

Were they talking about Bradley’s father? He was furious at first with his mother. She had known about these hidden treasures all along and not told him, not let him start the search? Maybe, if he started digging in the park he would find one of these treasures and somehow finally meet his dad. All of his friends had dads. Not all of them had one living with them, but they still had them, and Bradley always wanted to know his missing parent. Maybe this was his chance.

But he’d been digging for days now and only found a few squirrel bones (which were cool, he had to admit) and a few creepy bums tried to talk to him. Plus he’d saved that little dog from the bigger one. But still no treasure.

Maybe he should ask his mom. But she’d kept it a secret from him for a reason. He was on his own.

As Bradley realized he was probably late, he turned and started walking home. A car drove by and he saw a girl he knew from school, but he ignored her. He had bigger things on his mind.

If you would like to know more about the people in these stories, click on the “Stories of Connections” categories and read about some of the other people he’s bumped into or connecting events. Bradley pops up in other stories here and there. Tomorrow, learn more about what Bradley’s mom was talking about in “Ronald”.

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Everything I Needed to Know I Learned From 80s Cartoons

Posted on February 18, 2011 | 5 comments

Dennis Finocchiaro is the author of a few novels and loves everything 80s.

 

“Everything I needed to learn about being a good person I learned from 80s cartoons.”

“Really,” she responded with obvious dubiousness, one eyebrow raised and a sly grin on her face.

“Sure. G.I. Joe taught me to resolve my arguments with peace. And not to talk to strangers. And any other number of lessons. They had public service announcements after each episode. I learned from Slimer and the Ninja Turtles, Mickey Mouse and everyone else to say no to drugs thanks to Cartoon All Stars to the Rescue. I learned to treat my family right and to be good to people in general thanks to the television shows I watched.”

“Smurfs?”

“Of course! They were the kindest most congenial beings ever created. I can’t even watch them now…they’re so pure. It makes me sick.”

She laughed. “Okay what about He-Man? What could you possibly learn from him?”

“Are you kidding? Orko always caused some sort of trouble that I learned from. Don’t eavesdrop, don’t meddle, etc. That show had lessons after it just like G.I. Joe.”

“Okay, what about your precious Transformers? What could you possibly learn from them?”

“Seriously? They taught me the importance of doing the right thing, being a good guy instead of a Decepticon. Come on. Optimus Prime showed wisdom in every choice he made. I learned what a great leader possesses.”

She shook her head. “You’re ridiculous. Bugs Bunny?”

“That wasn’t 1980s, although I did watch it.”

“So what did you learn?”

“Not to fuck with a road runner? I dunno. That technically was the 70s and doesn’t count. The 80s were all about purity. Learning lessons. Being a good person. If I didn’t know better, I would think Humanists were running children’s programming.”

“Snorks? Centurions? Biskits? Shirt Tales?”

“Are you kidding me? You have got to be kidding. Snorks were practically an offshoot of Smurfs. Same comments apply. And the others? Trust me, every 80s cartoon was about teaching kids right from wrong.”

She looked at me across the table with pure seriousness.

“So you’re saying you don’t think kids need to go to church, so long as they watch 80s cartoons?”

“Exactly.

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When a Tree Falls in My Yard My Heart Makes a Sound

Posted on February 15, 2011 | 5 comments

As I look out my kitchen window, a vast emptiness consumes the view. The tree is gone.

I love my small property in suburban Philadelphia more than I can explain. Sure, I can’t stand the neighbors, the cramped street, the parking, but my house is another story entirely. I have (or should say had) four trees which shaded my house beautifully in the summer, keeping the heat at bay and my electric bills down.

And then there were three.

Storms claimed my lovely tree, an elm that has slowly deteriorated over the years. My neighbors were afraid it would fall on their homes, and during the last ice storm even I became concerned when the branches that fell at 5AM were so big that the sound rattled my whole house. So I gave in and the tree had to go.

I promised Mother Nature, myself, my close friends, my girlfriend and family, everyone really, that I would plant another. Nobody seems too concerned about it, but this tree, every tree means the world to me. So for now, as the ground is still frozen, I wait until the moment when I can finally plant another. And for now, when I look out any window facing the alley, I can feel that emptiness of the view, the lack of something, and even though I can see the beautiful blue sky that is out there today, I miss the branches, the leaves, the drooping arms of what was once a beautiful elm.

Sigh.

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Valentine’s Day is For Suckers (And I Guess I’m One of Those Suckers)

Posted on February 14, 2011 | 8 comments

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yup.”

I’d never been a fan of Valentine’s Day, honestly. It’s a Hallmark scam. It’s a holiday that is celebrated once a year to show someone you love them when that’s something you should show them a little more often than that. Maybe not so often as daily, but not so rarely as once a year. Also, who wants to do what’s expected of them? I would much rather give someone flowers for no reason and as a surprise; it’s more fun than sending them a dozen roses at work on a day where everyone gets roses at work.

“Am I going to get flowers?”

“I gave you flowers last week. Remember? I surprised you with them.”

“But what about Valentine’s flowers?”

“What, so you can show everyone at work that you got flowers? Lame. You could show them the flowers I get you randomly any other week. Why do you need flowers today?”

We both think quite differently. She enjoys having a caring and loving boyfriend and wants everyone to know about me, about us. It’s cute, honestly.

People are often surprised at how little I care for Valentine’s Day. I’m an obvious hopeless romantic and everyone knows it, especially my girlfriend. And I think that’s why I just can’t get behind the idea of celebrating your love for someone once a year when you could be enjoying it more often.

Her big blue eyes are widened with excitement as we sit on her leather couch and discuss this. I can see anticipation in them . She is sure I wouldn’t have let her down on this holiday of romance.

“So what, just because you want to show off to your single friends that you have a caring and loving boyfriend, I should go all out when you know I’m against everything this day stands for?”

“Yup. And FYI it’s not just for the single friends. It’s for everyone.”

I think about the valentine I made her sitting on the table in the other room, cleverly hidden under today’s paper. A simple one I made on the computer using the design program I work with daily. A picture of me giving the thumbs up. The words, I may hate Valentine’s Day but I don’t hate you in big letters on the inside. The cute but inexpensive earrings I got her, mostly because I felt obliged to get her something she could wear today at work so when people asked she could show them.

“So what, you expect me to believe you did nothing in anticipation of today?”

I think of the full breakfast I made her while she was still asleep in bed, simmering on a low flame in the kitchen, her favorite: French Toast with blueberries. A fresh coffee brewing.

“You know how I don’t love this day.”

“But you’re a romantic.”

And yes, I think of the delivery man bringing her flowers at work, even though I think it’s a terribly common idea. Her favorite flowers, no less.

I smile at her as she expectantly waits for me to produce some kind of gift. She hands me a package, carefully and artfully wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper.

“I know how you don’t like this day, and how you think it’s a scam to sell heart covered things, so I used the comics.”

I open it and it’s a beautiful writing journal with my name etched on the front.

“I know you would want something useful, not fabricated to make Hallmark more money. So I decided on this.”

She knows me well.

“And I also know you got me stuff. I can smell French Toast, and coffee, and I know you probably made me a card, and you got me something. So come on, out with it!” Her smile is almost cocky, and this whole moment reminds me how much I love her.

She knows me too well.

“It’s somewhere in this room, right now you’re cold.”

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY

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Dust

Posted on February 11, 2011 | 3 comments

Image by Danielle Suzanne Photography.

“You’re going to miss me, right?”

She finally said it. Susie had been wondering if Tine would ever actually verbalize it, or if she would continue to keep her feelings bottled up.

“I love you Tine. You know that. I’m not going to go off to college and forget you.”

She shifted her weight on the old table in their secret place, an abandoned home on the outskirts of town. Her slight movement brought up a small cloud of dust. She sighed and then coughed a little when she inhaled. They laughed.

“We really should have cleaned this place up when we found it. When was that, eight years ago?”

“At least,” Susie said with a smile. “Right after we became blood sisters.”

Tine’s shoulders drooped a bit.

“I wish I could go away to school. But-“

Susie pushed Tine’s long curly hair behind her ear. “Your mom needs you. Nobody would be around to take care of her. You’re making a huge sacrifice, but it’s one of love.”

Tine tried to look her in the eye but only made it up to the blue and white stripes of her shirt. “I’m afraid I’ll resent her. I’ll keep seeing your facebook statuses, and everyone else’s and I’ll be able to see every single little thing about living away at school that I’m missing. I’ll see it but never experience it.”

Susie didn’t know what to say to her. What could she say? She noticed the handprints they kept leaving in the dusty surface of the table. The room was littered with their handprints from the past eight years.

“I’m sorry. You’ll visit me though, right? And I’ll make sure you have a whole semester’s worth of fun in a weekend!”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll even get you laid.”

At that Tine started laughing and shoved her in a hard but playful way, forcing Susie to jump off the table and land on her feet.

“Bitch!” she said with a humor-filled tone so Tine would know she was kidding. “Now I’m only going to hook you up with ugly guys!”

Tine started laughing at looked at her watch.

“I should really go. Mom will need to eat soon. And I have some chores.”

Susie walked over to her and took her hand. “You’re my best friend, Tine. And nothing will ever change that.” Tine held on for a brief moment and then made her way to the door.

“Love you.”

She stopped with her hand on the knob and didn’t turn back. “Love you, too.”

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